


The Rain of Change

by 2Qualified



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29360505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Qualified/pseuds/2Qualified
Summary: After an intense argument with America, England goes to the pub and reconsiders his life.TW: This work includes themes of depression, suicidal thoughts, and substance abuse (alcohol).
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	The Rain of Change

**Author's Note:**

> TW: This work includes themes of depression, suicidal thoughts, and substance abuse (alcohol). If you or someone you know are dealing with depression or suicidal thoughts, no matter how insignificant you believe it to be, please reach out to a loved one or professional.
> 
> Alright, now come get your angst. Mama cooked it up nice for you.

In storytelling, it's said that rain signifies a dramatic change in a character or the plot.

As England sits in an obscure pub he forgot the name of after his fourth pint, listening to the heavy pattering of raindrops against the rustic stained glass windows, he ponders; his mind travels between the obscure and the painfully obvious. He remembers when he was a child, growing his hair out of rebellion, bickering with France…

Raising America.

He did raise America, didn't he?

_I wish you could be around more often,_ Young America whispered, finding something fascinating in the floorboards beneath them, _Do you miss me when you're not here?_

England feels something flop in his stomach, and he distantly worries that the alcohol might be getting to him.

Then his mind jumped back to earlier in the day.

"You always call me a child," America snapped, directing a scathing glare at England, "And what the fuck do you know, huh? At least your 'big brothers' didn't live across the goddamn sea. You never gave me shit besides taxes and inedible scones. Yet you act like I owe you something.

"Well I don't, and I never will."

Time slowed down for England when he heard that. It slowed, and stopped, and suddenly it sped forward again at lighting speed.

Too fast to keep him from saying, "Well then… I suppose I should have just let France and Spain rip you apart. At least then you might have died while I still loved you."

The pure look of abject horror that spread over America's features made England want to crawl under a rock; the crushing sensation in entire body made him feel like a modern day Giles Corey. America's eyes had never grown so dark as they did in that moment.

Despite the overpowering urge to simply shoot himself in the head and put an end to this madness, England let out a disembodied laugh, "Now, if we're done here," He straightened his tie, "I'm going to the pub. I’m much too mature to waste my time arguing with children, particularly snot-nosed brats like you."

America blinked, mouth agape, "Y-You…" He breathlessly laughed a few times as he watched England storm out, "Yeah, run away, limey! Run away with your tail between your legs, just like you did when I kicked your ass in '81!"

That's how England found himself at the pub. That's where he decided: rain doesn't signify jack shit.

_Nothing's changed._

_He's always felt that way about me,_ He pressed another pint of something that tasted vaguely reminiscent of paint thinner to his lips, _I've just finally accepted it._

England pulled out a notebook and a pen from his briefcase. He writes sometimes, when no one is around to disturb or humiliate him.

_"Dear England,"_ He writes, _"Congratulations. You blitzkrieg-ed yourself."_

His hand almost moves on his own as he documents his train of thought, certain he will find it illegible the following morning.

_I just wanted… be a big brother… I was born when I met America, and I died when he left me… America… I love America… I love you so much, America… I'm so sorry… so sorry…_

_I'm just a reminder of your colonial past, your prison. You'd be happier without me._

England's eyelids begin to feel increasingly heavy. His heart has sunk down through his feet and into the depths of hell.

_Please… remember me kindly._

England doesn't remember much after that, nor how he ended up in a hotel room he didn't recognize.

"Are you awake?" A voice, dejected in every conceivable way, called out through the soft light of the room.

England winced, the voice causing a headache to split through his head like a ravine.

"America?" He wavered.

"I tried calling you."

England said nothing.

"The bartender picked up after the tenth time and told me to come get you."

America's expression was unusually serious. He sat in a chair next to the bed England laid upon, hunched over with his fingers interlocked.

"England, what is this?" America held up England's notebook.

England felt the need to call the presses, because he finally found the plus side to having a hangover.

"That? Just drunk scribbles," He slurred, nonchalantly reaching for the notebook, but America pulled it away. He rolled his eyes.

"Are you thinking about doing something reckless?"

"That's priceless coming from you."

"England. Shut up."

England pressed his lips into a line. He remembers scolding young America like this, two hundred-some odd years ago.

_I see I've managed to hurt you again._

"Don't worry about me right now."

_Wait, did you hear that?_

"England, you're talking out loud."

"O-Oh."

There was a long silence. England moved to speak, but America cut him off.

"I said some things I didn't mean today," His voice broke; he swallowed hard, "In trying to prove that I'm no longer a child, I did the opposite.

"I didn't—I don't…" America took his glasses off and ran a palm over his face, "When I was young, I loved you, and when I won my independence, I hated that I still loved you. In the time since then, I've learned how hard it is to be a nation.

"Everyday I understand more and more your reasoning for the things you did to me. Learning all this, it's… It makes the hardship of standing on my own worth it. Because I get to know you."

England didn't believe what he was hearing. The hope filling in his lungs, and the doubt that built-up in his bile pushed tears from his eyes. The rain of change came from within himself.

"I never wanted you to die, I…" England sputtered, "I didn't want you to die when I stopped loving you. I never stopped.

"I wanted to die when you stopped loving _me."_

America's eyes watered as they regained their youthful blue hue. Their majesty encompassed England, followed shortly by America's arms.

As America held him, he whispered the words that would serve as the keys to free England from his self-fortified mental prison. His castle of a single crumbling turret at the bottom of Gaping Gill.

"Well, I never stopped loving you… so please. Stop wanting to die."

England felt centuries of pain evaporate in America's shining sun. He pulled America closer and cried for what felt like ages. He would be embarrassed about it later.

When his sobs began to subside, America pulled back to look in England's eyes.

"I know you want to be my brother, but…" He rubbed his thumb across England's cheek, "I had something else in mind."

England's eyes softened, but a flame was set alight in his chest.

"Can I…?"

In a brief flash, England saw his entire life play out before his eyes. Then he saw a future without America. A future where he never said—

"Y-Yes."

America's lips were firm, and England's were wet with tears. Together, their fractured hearts mended each other, and beat as one.

It might be worth mentioning that a month after these events, France complained to England, "Really, you never go to the pub anymore… It's no fun."

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fanfiction in ages, how'd I do?


End file.
